


Pots and Pans

by HorrendousHag



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, cross-posted on ffn, prewritten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-06-24 08:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19719775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HorrendousHag/pseuds/HorrendousHag
Summary: The Dark Lord is back. The Minister won't listen. England decides to take matters into his own hands... by accidentally Apparating into the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love a good Hetalia/HP crossover, and it kinda looks like there aren't enough on this site, sooo here ya go! :D

It was a beautiful Thursday afternoon in London, England; the sun was shining, birds were twittering, and Arthur Kirkland was miserable.

As the personification and representative of Great Britain, he liked to think he knew what was going on everywhere all the time. He couldn’t actually manage that without being informed, which was why even though he didn’t maintain much contact with his magical government, he still had the Daily Prophet delivered every morning. So he knew exactly why he felt so down in the dumps.

The reason was the return of Voldemort—no matter how adamant the Prophet was that Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were liars. There was nothing else he could think of at this time that could be causing him to feel so dreadful.

Fortunately no one had died yet—he was sure because he felt almost perfectly fine, except the headache and that one time on June 24, when he had experienced a small sharp pain in his chest. It had been the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, and Cedric Diggory was reported dead. England theorized that Voldemort was lying low, trying to weaken and discredit Dumbledore before he struck. And it was working too—just a couple days ago Dumbledore had lost his position on the Wizengamot.

He set aside the paper and sighed, rubbing his temples. The perpetual ache had settled there ever since the Dark Lord’s return, due, he assumed, to the divided opinions of the magical population over whether Voldemort was back or not. The main cause of this issue was Cornelius Fudge, who was controlling the papers and was most unfortunately his Minister of Magic.

England wasn’t sure if Cornelius was in denial, clinging to safety, or if he didn’t believe that Voldemort was back—but either way he needed someone to change his mind. And if Dumbledore couldn’t do it, maybe he would listen to his Nation.

‘-’

Arthur flooed into the Ministry of Magic with much aplomb and little drama, as well as the last of his floo powder. He’d changed into his robes, and few wizards spared him so much as a glance before going on their way.

This was to be expected. The existence of Nations, while not a secret, wasn’t widely known, having been forgotten to the sands of time. This was nice, since everyone knowing who he was would lead to a lot of unwanted staring and paparazzi. On the other hand, he had on more than one occasion approached a government official to talk about something important only to find that they didn’t have a clue who he was. Most of them would kick him out of their offices when he tried to tell them.

Shaking those thoughts away, he dusted the ash off his robes, took a deep breath, and made his way to the lifts. On the way to the Minister’s office he was joined and left by several interesting and boring characters as well as a few paper airplanes. When at last he reached his floor, he was alone.

England stepped out of the lift and made his way briskly down the hall past every door to the desk outside the Minister’s office, where a secretary was scratching something out with a quill. He cleared his throat.

The red-haired secretary looked up with a start and adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. “Oh! My apologies, I didn’t see you there. Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but the Minister will see me in any case.”

The secretary frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t let you in without an appointment.”

“Tell him Britain’s here to see him.”

The secretary raised his eyebrows, oozing skepticism.

“Fine then, say Arthur Kirkland.”

The young man stood up with an exasperated sigh, straightened his robes, and made his way over to the door. He knocked and opened it. “Minister, there is a man here to see you. He says his name is Arthur Kirkland.”

The Minister’s jovial yet nervous voice came through the crack in the door. “Then by all means, Weasley, let him in! Don’t leave him standing there all day!”

The young man—Weasley, was it?—looked startled, but stepped aside and opened the door wider. “Minister Fudge will see you, Mister Kirkland,” he said.

“Thank you.” Arthur strode into the office and waited until the door was closed behind him to speak. “Minister.”

“Britain!” Cornelius greeted him. “How good it is to see you! Do sit.”

He sat, maintaining eye contact.

“Now, what is it you came here for? It’s been a long time since you chose to grace the Ministry with your presence.”

England took a deep breath. “It has come to my attention that the Dark Lord Voldemort has recently risen from the dead.”

Cornelius’ grin strained. “Well you can rest assured that that is a lie—Potter and Dumbledore are simply delusional. There is nothing to fear.”

England raised his eyebrows. “Is that so? Tell me, do you have evidence for your claims? Have you not heard of the death of Cedric Diggory?”

The Minister shook his head. “Cedric’s death was tragic, yes, but it was an accident, and certainly not caused by a _deceased_ dark lord. I would expect you of all people to be able to tell this sort of thing, Britain, honestly.”

“Of course,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I can sense anything strange that’s going on. And that’s why I came here personally to inform you that Potter and Dumbledore are telling the truth. Voldemort has returned, and I know because I can feel it. You must stop feeding your lies and treachery to the Prophet and let the people know the truth. Rally your forces, Cornelius! Dark times are coming, and you’re sitting here in your nice comfortable chair doing nothing about it!”

Cornelius’ brow furrowed. “Britain, I can assure you that You-Know-Who is not back. I don’t know what’s come over you, you seem delusional—perhaps you need to go home and rest, you look tired.”

He could be right—maybe he was just tired. He could just be getting sick, the odds of Voldemort returning from death were astronomical—but no, he would not fall into the mindset Fudge had adopted he _would not_ … “Minister, see sense. I’ve come to you as your Nation, I know he’s back—you must listen to me!”

“I must insist you go home and get some sleep!” Fudge snapped. “There is nothing wrong, You-Know-Who has not returned, I can’t believe you’ve been deluded by Dumbledore’s lies!”

Arthur jumped to his feet with a snarl. “You’re a fool for not believing him, and they’re hardly delusions! I think I will leave—and I hope you realize soon how wrong you are!” He stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him and ignoring the startled Weasley, and stalked down the hall. Only when he was alone in the lift did his anger begin to simmer down.

He groaned and slumped against the wall. What was he to do with such a corrupt magical leader?

‘-’

England decided first to head home. As much as he wanted to resist any suggestions coming from the Minister right now, he thought it would be best to sit down somewhere and do some thinking.

So he sat in his living room with a cup of too-sweet high-caffeine tea and considered. What could he do next? He supposed Dumbledore was the best person to see, but he couldn’t simply waltz up to Hogwarts and expect to be let in, even if he was capable of bypassing the wards. He wasn’t in possession of an owl either, and he’d used the last of his floo powder on the trip to the Ministry, so neither of those options were available for contacting the man… to Diagon Alley, then.

After downing the rest of his tea, he heaved himself to his feet, rubbing his temples in the hopes that his headache wouldn’t flare up—it did—and Apparated to an alley near the Leaky Cauldron. He took a moment to regain his bearings and allow the throbbing of his head to lessen, then strode from the alley to stand in front of the pub.

It was quite hard to notice if you didn’t know it was there, due to enchantments for the most part. Similar to the Fidelius charm, but not the same.

He frowned. Now that he thought of it, there was just one area in the city that he couldn’t feel or locate at all. Someone was hiding… the Dark Lord?

Without a second thought, he Disapparated.

‘-’

_CRASH!_

There was a clanging of pots and pans and a shriek of startled astonishment.

Arthur found himself staring up at one of the most drab, gloomy ceilings he had ever seen, which was saying something as he had seen a lot of drab and gloomy ceilings.

 _God_ , his head hurt. His eyes screwed up against the dim light and he let out a soft moan.

There was silence for a moment, and then a great scraping of chairs and rustling of fabric, accompanied by rising voices.

And he was just lying on the floor.

He rolled over, trying to ignore the pounding of his head, and pushed himself to his hands and knees.

He was already surrounded, he could sense it, and the people around him were shouting something he couldn’t quite hear over the ringing in his ears—of all the times, why did his impulsiveness have to get the better of him now?

He lurched to his feet, eyes snapping open to see the possible hostiles, but jerked back when he found a wand in his face and just avoided tripping over a frying pan. He flicked his eyes from the wand to the shouting man holding it, a grizzled fellow with an intensely focused electric blue eye staring straight at him—wait, he recognized this man…

His hearing at last chose to start working right at the moment when the man yelled, “Stupefy!” and he greeted darkness.

‘-’

There was a deafening _CRASH_ from downstairs, and Ron and Hermione jumped. They exchanged a glance, wide-eyed.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron breathed.

It was quiet for a few seconds and then shouting started.

“DON’T MOVE!”

“HOW DID HE GET IN?”

“WHY ISN’T DUMBLEDORE HERE YET?”

“IS THAT A DEATH EATER?”

“DON’T MOVE, I SAY!”

“STUPEFY!”

Anything else that might have been said was drowned out by the sound of Mrs. Black and the other portraits screaming.

Ron and Hermione stared at each other for a long moment. Without even having to say a word, they both leapt to their feet and rushed for the door, soon joined by Fred, George, and Ginny, and had made it halfway down the stairs when Mrs. Weasley rushed up to them, looking frazzled.

“Back to your rooms!” she commanded.

“But Mum—” Fred or George began—

“Back. To. Your. Rooms!” she snapped, and began herding them back the way they came. There was nothing they could do to stop her.

‘-’

When England woke up, he found his headache lessened and himself tied to a chair in what may once have been a bedroom.

Not moving his head, he glanced at the door; two wizards stood in front of it, conversing in low tones he couldn’t quite make out. HIs eyes flicked to the window on the right, then back to the wizards. He probably wouldn’t be able to untie his ropes, reach the window, and unlock it before they noticed, and he was certain they’d taken his wand, seeing as it wasn’t poking into his side like it usually was. The knife in his boot was also missing, though he doubted it would have helped since he couldn’t move his arms that low.

There came a knock at the door, and the wizards ceased their conversation and opened it.

Through the doorway came Albus Dumbledore—thanks goodness, this meant he hadn’t just been captured by Death Eaters, and this was someone he needed to see. Now to convince him he was on his side…

England lifted his head as the old man drew near, grimacing as his aching head and neck protested. “Professor, how good to see you.”

Dumbledore stopped in front of him and gazed intently into his eyes. “I don’t believe we’ve met… though you appear young enough to have been one of my students recently.”

England smirked. “Well of course not. I rarely introduce myself to people I don’t need to talk to, and it’s been many years since I attended school.” He sighed. “It seems, however, that you are someone to whom I do have to introduce myself. I am Arthur Kirkland, among other names you may not believe.”

Dumbledore hummed. “Tell me, Arthur—how did you get in here?”

“I Apparated. Did you not hear what happened?”

“I did,” Dumbledore said with and incline of his head. “But I can’t help wondering how you managed to get past the wards.”

England did his best to shrug in spite of the ropes. “I’ve always had a knack for doing that sort of thing—and not necessarily on purpose.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Interesting.” He straightened up. “Whose side are you on, Mr. Kirkland?”

Arthur blinked at the abrupt change of topic. “Whichever side Voldemort isn’t on.”

The wizards by the door flinched.

Dumbledore looked interested. “I see…” He leaned closer, staring, before drawing away with a gasp. “I thought you looked familiar… Please, tell me of your more unbelievable names.”

Arthur smirked. “I am called England, or Britain. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland is a bit of a mouthful, you see.”

The wizards by the door exchanged a confused glance, but Dumbledore had a knowing glint in his eye. “I apologize for the actions of my Order members, Mr. England.” The ropes were cut with a flick of his wand. The wizards gaped. “I hope we can still become allies.”

Arthur stretched arms above his head with a relieved sigh. “I wouldn’t toss aside such a valuable alliance for something so petty. Tell me about your Order.”

‘-’

Ten minutes later found England seated at the table in the same room he’d arrived in. It was as dull and boring as he vaguely remembered from earlier, but this time he could at least see more than the ceiling. Around the table were several other witches and wizards who all seemed terribly uncomfortable with his presence—they kind of deserved it, in his opinion.

Maybe he was just bitter that they’d knocked him out and tied him to a chair.

England smugly sipped the tea that had been so graciously given to him by a guilty-looking red-haired woman. His knife and wand had been returned, though not without a couple incredulous comments about the star on top.

A moment later Dumbledore re-entered the room followed by a familiar gaunt, pale-skinned man with black hair. There was no need to announce his presence, seeing as no one was talking.

Dumbledore took his seat at the head of the table, and the pale man sat a few chairs over from England. He stared, brow furrowed, but for the life of him couldn’t figure out who the man was. He was startled out of his thoughts by Dumbledore calling the meeting to order.

“Everyone, I know he arrived under rather suspicious circumstances, but rest assured that Mr. England here,” he gestured to him, “is no threat to our cause.”

Confused murmurs rippled through the group, and Dumbledore raised his hand for silence. “Mr. England, I believe you would have a better chance of explaining this.”

England nodded. “Of course.” He rose to his feet and swept everyone with his gaze. “I am, in essence, the personification of the United Kingdom. The stereotypes and history of Britain in human form. You may refer to me as England, Britain, or if you prefer, by my human name, Arthur Kirkland. I have been around for over a thousand years observing and interacting with my people and fighting in wars alongside them, and it has come to my attention that the Dark Lord Voldemort—”

Everyone flinched.

“—has just recently risen again. As this is something that heavily involves me due to my nature, I thought I ought to get involved.” He sat back down again.

The voices of the Order members started up again, incredulous.

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I wasn’t listening, what did he say?”

“Preposterous! Dumbledore, you don’t really believe this?”

Dumbledore raised his hand again, and the voices died down. “You will find there is much evidence pointing to the truth of Mr. England’s words. I myself did research on the subject many years ago—it was most enlightening.” He left it at that, his eyes twinkling mysteriously. “Now if you would all introduce yourselves, I’m sure it would be much appreciated.”

There was quiet for a moment; everyone looked at each other, wondering who would go first. Eventually a sallow-skinned man with greasy black hair started. “I am Severus Snape, Hogwarts Potions Master and head of Slytherin House.”

The person next to Severus began with some hesitance. “Emmeline Vance.”

They continued around the table uninterrupted with Arthur and Molly Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody among others until—

“Sirius Black.”

England jolted—finally, he remembered who this man was! He stared. “Excuse me? How—why are you here?”

Black’s face assumed an expression devoid of all emotion other than a small tinge of annoyance. “I was framed by Peter Pettigrew, who is a rat animagus and still alive. I’m getting tired of having to explain this.”

“I… see.” England nodded. “Continue.”

They went on and soon finished with Sturgis Podmore, then at last the meeting _officially_ began.

“Everyone, please begin your reports—starting with you, Severus.”

Snape stood and began to drone his report. “The Dark Lord has yet to make any moves regarding the prophecy. He continues to bide his time.”

“And what has he to say of the dementor attack?” Dumbledore inquired.

England’s snapped to him; he’d heard nothing of a dementor attack.

“As far as I am aware,” Severus continued, “he has no part in it. He seems quite curious as to who is responsible.” He continued his report like this, and abruptly sat back down once he had finished.

The Order members continued in this fashion to give their reports on what they were assigned to; the guarding of a certain prophecy, the goings-on of the black market and criminal underground, the activities of the aurors and what they could find of the Minister’s, recruitment, and last but not least, the status of Harry Potter.

England thought it a slight invasion of privacy to be following the boy around, but he understood the severity of the situation, perhaps more than anyone else in the room. It was a necessary precaution—though from what he’d heard so far of this dementor attack, it hadn’t done much good in the end.

Wine was drunk now and then, and more and more scrolls filled the table as the meeting went on.

The meeting finished off with a discussion concerning who was guarding the prophecy. At the end of this, Dumbledore addressed the Nation in the room.

“I don’t mean to be presumptuous, Mr. England,” he began, “but could you spare a few nights to guard the Department of Mysteries?”

All eyes turned to him, several gazes as suspicious as they had been throughout the meeting, but England ignored them.

“I’ll have to check my schedule—I’m very busy. However, I’m willing to offer my services in a related area.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Do go on.”

England cleared his throat and went on. “As the embodiment of this country, I have high political standing and access to any and all government files. I can get close to the Minister quickly and with little to no suspicion, recording his movements and perhaps influencing his decisions.”

Murmurs swept through the Order, eyes growing wide as England continued, though Dumbledore seemed unsurprised.

“That would be most helpful,” he said, inclining his head. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

England waved a hand. “It’s the least I can do. Helping your cause is helping myself, after all—the last wizarding war was more than a bit unpleasant, and I would like to do my part in aiding the light, or even preventing the war entirely.”

“Excellent!” Dumbledore clapped his hands together once. “Meeting adjourned. Meet here again Thursday at half past six. Good evening everyone.”

‘-’

The kitchen door swung open, and Fred and George ducked behind the stairwell; they had been attempting to glean information from the Order meeting from the second floor landing through the use of a newer invention of theirs, Extendable Ears. Due to their mother’s interference, they had been late, and had come in when Mundungus was talking about the rumors circulating the black market. There hadn’t been much of any note after that, and they had withdrawn once everyone started talking about the ever-mysterious guard duty, which was getting boring to hear about at this point.

After that they had waited around to see the Order members leaving, which was exactly what they were doing now. It was all the usual witches and wizards, Moody here, Professor Lupin there, Snape, unfortunately—wait, who was that blond fellow?

They exchanged a glance, having spotted him at the same time, and leaned out a bit to get a better look.

There he was, talking to Dumbledore. A new member? They hadn’t heard about him through the Extendable Ears—then again, they had come in late…

The man had the most enormous eyebrows, listed a bit toward the short side, and now he was checking his watch. He said something to Dumbledore, who nodded wisely, then they shook hands and the man left.

Dumbledore looked up at them with a knowing smile, and they dashed for their room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Here you go~  
> ~My dudes~  
> ~Enjoy!~

The next morning, England visited Diagon Alley for money, an owl, and floo powder as he had intended yesterday, then flooed to the Ministry of Magic directly following.

Once again, no one took much note of him. He once saw Arthur Weasley, but they ignored each other for cover’s sake and continued with their business.

England stepped into the lift and waited to reach the floor on which the Minister resided, and was joined briefly by a number of interesting characters on the way—there had been a witch holding a smoking hat at arm’s length while it tried to bite her fingers off, and also a man whose hair couldn’t seem to decide whether it should stick up or lie flat. By the time the man left it was sticking out straight sideways.

At last England was back in the dreaded hallway and making his way to where the secretary—wasn’t he also a Weasley?—was still scratching away at some papers. He cleared his throat and smiled politely when the boy looked up.

“Ah, back again, are you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Weasley rose to his feet and opened Fudge’s door. “Minister, that Arthur Kirkland is here for you again.”

There was a shuffling of parchment. “Let him in.”

Weasley stepped aside and Arthur passed him, once again waiting for the door to close.

Cornelius sighed. “Please, sit, Britain.”

He did so, and Fudge gazed at him longsufferingly.

“What are you here for today?”

England pasted on a congenial smile that was almost physically painful due to who it was directed at. “I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I was a bit… out of it, I must say, and I may have been slightly delusional.”

Fudge raised his eyebrows. “Indeed. Is that all?”

England shook his head. “Actually, I’ve been thinking of strengthening my bond with the Ministry. I’ve become rather disconnected recently, and that leans toward the unhealthy side for one such as myself. My approach yesterday was somewhat spur of the moment, I hope you can forgive me for that.” His headache was getting worse with every word he spoke.

Fudge nodded slowly. “Yes, yes of course. So you’ve finally decided to rejoin us, eh? Glad to hear it, the Ministry has missed you. Do you plan to, ah—reconnect with Hogwarts as well?”

England furrowed his brow. “What happens at Hogwarts is none of my concern—as long as it’s not breaking any laws, anyway.”

“Of course, naturally,” his tone was taking on an excited edge. “Am I to presume you are not, er, on speaking terms with Albus Dumbledore, then?”

“Oh, definitely.” England nodded. “I have nothing to say to him. He has attempted contact with me, it seems, but now that I am properly rested and have had a little tea, it’s clear that he’s delusional.”

“Yes…” Fudge agreed. “Actually, I have been considering removing him from the school. I fear he poses a threat to the safety of the children, and even the Ministry, for that matter. It may be best to have him retire.”

Arthur shook his head. “Be that as it may, he’s still brilliant—there would be backlash from the general public if we were to remove him, and I dread to think what he might do if we left him to his own devices.”

“That… would be a problem, yes…”

“I suggest a slower approach,” Arthur said. “We must dethrone him gradually, and ensure that the public is in agreement with us. What you’ve been doing in the papers is excellent so far, but I believe we may need a little push.”

The corners Fudge’s lips twitched. “I think I have the perfect solution. Due to Dumbledore’s seeming inability to find a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, we have been trying to pass an educational decree that would allow us to plant my Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge, in the school as Defense teacher. We’re nearly there.”

Oh butter biscuits, not the toad woman. He’d read about her in the papers.

On the outside England just grinned. “That’s wonderful news! It seems you’re doing an excellent job without me. Do you even need my help?” he joked. Oh, they needed help, all right…

Fudge let out a fake laugh. “Now Britain, there are still many areas in which we could use your expertise!”

From there they discussed other duties England could fulfill, what he had time for, and how they could manipulate the public to their advantage. This was going to be exhausting…

‘-’

The next couple of days continued in a similarly torturous fashion, though England only visited the Ministry in the evenings when he’d had a couple hours to rest after attending to his Muggle government all day.

The day before the next meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, Arthur informed Fudge that he had a dinner to attend the next evening with some Muggle politicians, saying that this happened often and he would be warned ahead of time. And so it was with great relief that on Thursday afternoon he made his way to number twelve Grimmauld Place rather than the Minister of Magic’s office.

When he arrived, he found a few other Order members were there—Molly and Arthur Weasley, the latter of whom had answered the door for him, and Sirius Black, and he was almost certain they all lived there for the moment. A bunch of red-haired teenagers were hanging around in the kitchen accompanied by another brown-haired one, who he recognized from the articles surrounding the Triwizard Tournament as Hermione Granger, a friend of Harry Potter’s.

They all stopped what they were talking about to stare at him when he entered. He waved awkwardly, upon which Molly Weasley noticed his presence.

“Oh, hello, um…” She fumbled with his name for a moment before settling on, “Arthur! Lovely to see you—Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, Hermione, I think it’s about time you five went upstairs before the meeting begins.”

There was a chorus of sullen, “Yes, Mum,”s, accompanied by a single, “Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” and the teenagers tramped out of the room.

Arthur Weasley and Black came in just after they left and claimed seats at the table, and Molly sat with them. Black gestured to him invitingly. “Come sit down, Mr. England.”

England gave a small smile and took a spot across from Sirius. “Just England, if you will. I won’t ask you to call me Arthur—you already have one.”

Arthur Weasley hummed in agreement and adjusted his glasses. “Say, how does that work, exactly? You having both a normal name and being called, um, England?”

  
“Oh, well,” England started, “it is sometimes easier to go by a human name, especially nowadays when there are fewer people who are aware of the existence of Nations such as myself. It also feels a little more personal.” 

Sirius looked interested. “‘Nowadays’, you said? How old are you, exactly?” 

England shrugged. “As old as this country. Somewhere over a thousand years. Didn’t I mention that before?”

The three humans gaped in astonishment.

“That’s incredible!” Arthur exclaimed. “What is it like?”

“It has its ups and downs,” England waved a hand. “Bit of a down right now, having to deal with the Minister and everything else that’s going on. But if there’s anything I’ve learned over the years, it’s that things will get better.” He frowned. “Probably. Sometimes they just get worse.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Sirius said dryly.

At that moment the doorbell rang, and a horrendous screeching echoed from the hall before being joined by... even more screeching.

England clapped his hands over his ears. “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” he yelled over the din.

The other three had leapt to their feet and were making their way to the door. “MY DEAR OLD MUM!” Sirius shouted back.

England darted after them into the hallway, where paintings all along the hall were screaming their lungs out. Arthur started stunning them, while Sirius ran for a larger painting of a yellow-skinned woman (or perhaps she was a hag?) framed by moth-eaten curtains and Molly went to answer the door.

Sirius shouted a few shameless obscenities at the painting as he attempted to pull the curtains shut, and England rushed to help him. (Though not with the obscenities.) Several tugs later the curtains were hanging limply in front of the now-silent painting.

They turned to the door, where a raggedy wizard, Mundungus Fletcher, if England remembered right, was apologizing profusely to Molly.

“Try not to do it again,” she growled. “I’ve had it up to here with all this…”

They all shambled back to the kitchen with their new addition, Molly shooing the kids back to their rooms again on the way, and resumed their seats at the table, except Molly who went to make tea.

England slumped in his chair. “You said something about your mum?”

Sirius slumped even further than England. “Yeah, lovely woman, all sunshine and daisies. Been immortalized as a painting and melded to the wall with a permanent sticking charm. Quite fortunate, aren’t we?”

England chuckled. “Couldn’t be luckier if there were a real hag hanging from the wall.”

“I might prefer that, actually,” Sirius muttered. “At least then she wouldn’t be bellowing on about how ashamed she is to have me for a son—not that I care, I’m ashamed that she’s my mother.”

England had a sudden thought. “Oh, Arthur.” He turned to the man. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to the Minister’s secretary, would you?”

Arthur’s face darkened. Sirius and Mundungus both winced, and the clattering of teacups and saucers behind them stopped.

Whoops. “I’ve… hit a nerve, haven’t I? I apologize.”

Arthur let out a shuddering breath. “No, no, it’s fine—you didn’t know.”

It didn’t look fine, but England decided to drop the subject.

“So…” Mundungus began. “You ‘ear that rumor about the Weird Sisters breakin’ up?”

Sirius jumped on the opportunity for a distraction. “No, but I don’t believe it.”

“I dunno, I ‘eard somethin’ about an argument between the lead singer and the drummer…”

More Order members trickled in as the next thirty minutes ticked by, those who had chosen to go pick up Harry Potter being noticeably absent. England hoped things were going well with them. Molly began to set out wine bottles and goblets for the meeting.

Soon even Dumbledore had arrived, adding a comment to Sirius and Mundungus’ heating debate on the likelihood of the Weird Sisters splitting up. The old man took his seat at the end of the table nearest them, between Sirius and Arthur, who had struck up a conversation with his son Bill. The room slowly quieted as everyone began to turn their gazes to Dumbledore, until eventually it was silent.

“I hope you are all doing well,” he began. “I would wait for our remaining members to arrive, however, I am pressed for time tonight. Severus—”

The door could faintly be heard opening above, followed by soft footsteps and hushed voices.

Dumbledore smiled. “It seems I spoke too soon. Molly, if you would?”

She stood, “Of course!” and hurried away up the steps.

People resumed their conversations while they waited, though a few remained silent. Sirius and Mundungus started their argument again, but they hadn’t gotten far before the missing Order members joined them.

Once Molly had reclaimed her seat a couple minutes later, Dumbledore called the meeting to order. Again. Though a little different this time. “Alastor, how did the retrieval go?”

“I don’t think we were tailed,” Alastor said gruffly, “but you can never be too careful. Aside from the potential risk, it went well. We collected Potter on time and only had to make five detours.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Very good. Severus, please begin your report.”

Severus stood up. “The Dark Lord seems unaware of Potter’s retrieval. His other plans are unclear to me, however…”

The meeting continued as before, various scrolls of parchment with a number of different things on them being pulled out as people discussed plans and options, but this time when they came to England, he was also asked to report.

He stood and cleared his throat. “I am fairly confident that I have gained the Minister’s trust—he’s quite gullible. However, I’m sure he still has some buried suspicion. Lately we have most unfortunately been discussing how best to dethrone Albus and replace him with Fudge’s Undersecretary, Umbridge.”

Some people began muttering amongst themselves at the mention of her name, but were silenced with a look.

“I try not to suggest the best or worst ideas,” he continued. “So far, Fudge has made plans to plant Umbridge at Hogwarts by making her Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and he is just passing an educational decree that will allow the Ministry to assign someone to a teaching role if the school is having trouble finding a professor for any position. They plan to go further with this in the future. That is all I have to report.” He sat back down again.

Concerned murmurs began to rise through the group. Sirius took a swig of wine, Arthur began protesting loudly, and Severus’ eyebrows were furrowed so hard they almost concealed his eyes. England could almost feel the anger boiling beneath the calm facade of Albus’ face.

The old man raised his voice, “Silence!” and the room quieted down. “This is a… disturbing development,” he said carefully, “but we shall face it when we come to it. Mr. England, please continue to thwart Cornelius’ efforts.”

He managed to get the meeting flowing like normal after that, though everyone was drinking more wine than before.

Guarding shifts did not need to be discussed this time, though Dumbledore once again asked England whether he could fulfill that duty.

“I’m afraid not, Albus. I have a full schedule, and I think I might collapse from exhaustion if I had to do anything more than I am already.”

“Very well. Meeting adjourned! Please meet back here Tuesday evening at half past seven or your earliest convenience. Good night.”

With that, near everyone began to rise, finishing off goblets of wine and grabbing their coats off the back of their chairs. The notable exceptions, aside from those who were living there, were Bill Weasley, who was talking to his father, and Mundungus Fletcher, who appeared to have fallen asleep after his pipe went out.

England was just getting up himself when Molly approached him. “Um—why don’t you stay for dinner, England? It’s always nice to have more company—and you’re looking awfully pale and thin, if you don’t mind me saying.”

He stopped for a moment, considering, and then settled back into his chair again. “That sounds lovely, Molly.” He would love to go home, but he’d heard from Arthur that Molly’s cooking was delicious, and he didn’t want to be moving around much anyway—he was quite tired. It would be nice to eat a home-cooked meal for once instead of takeout, which he got often because he didn’t feel like cooking and not because his food tasted bland, which it didn’t.

Molly beamed at him, then filed out with the rest of the Order members.

England joined Arthur and Bill’s discussion on precisely where within the Prophecy Room Potter’s prophecy might be. He was just indicating a central area of the floor plan when there was a thump in the hallway and the same blood-curdling scream from Thursday erupted.

Sirius dashed from the room, and could be heard screaming back at his mother’s portrait again. The screeching of the other portraits slowly died away, and at last there was silence.

Arthur turned back to the parchment. “So, what were you saying, England?”

“Ah, yes.” He returned his attention to their discussion. “I think the prophecy may be about here,” he circled a spot on the map, “considering what it’s about and when it was foretold. The Department of Mysteries does have a bit of a skewed organization system, though.”

Arthur frowned. “You may be right. What do you think, Bill?”

“Well—”

“Ahem.”

The three of them looked up to see Molly giving them a pointed glare, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, the Weasley children, Harry Potter, and Granger standing behind her with curious faces.

England quickly sat back in his chair, Arthur jumped up to greet Potter, and Bill began frantically gathering up the parchments around the table. England decided to help with that when he remembered how much of this they didn’t want the young ones to see. Tonks tried to help, but she knocked over a candle and was stopped after that.

Bill then had the sense to clear the table with a spell, Mundungus was woken up, and they all settled down to talk, except Fred, George, and Tonks, who all went to help Molly with the cooking.

They began discussing lighter topics instead, and Mundungus contemplated the worth of Sirius’ family goblets, which he didn’t seem to mind at all.

Then Molly gave a great shriek at Fred and George, cutting off all conversation, and everyone looked up to see a cauldron, an iron flagon of butterbeer, and a cutting board with knife sailing onto the table, where they began speeding toward the end. Near everyone dove from their chairs, Mundungus fell over backward, and England jerked his arms back just in time to avoid a set of broken bones and second-degree burns as the cauldron slid to a halt at the table’s end.

There was a moment of shocked silence, and then the twins started apologizing while Sirius and Potter laughed on the floor and Molly and Arthur reprimanded their children.

England let out a sigh of relief, seeing that his arms were both intact, then drew his wand and levitated the cauldron more to the center of the table.

Dinner was served in a fashion no more chaotic than he would expect of wizards, and they all ate for a few minutes before conversation started again.

“This stew is delicious, Molly!” England complimented.

Molly smiled. “Thank you, I’m glad you like it.”

“Who are you, anyway?” one of the twins interrupted. “We haven’t seen you around.”

“Don’t be rude, George,” Molly scolded.

The eyes of all who didn’t know who he was—and all who did—had turned to him by now. “It’s quite all right, Molly. It was rude of me not to introduce myself.” He looked at the twins. “It’s only natural you haven’t seen me, I only joined the Order Thursday. I am called the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, England for short. Please don’t call me Britain, the only person who has called me that lately is the Minister, and I don’t want to think about him. Alternatively, I am also Arthur Kirkland.”

The kids all exchanged confused looks, and the other twin spoke up. “...What does that mean, exactly?”

“Of course I have to explain this…” England sighed. “Basically I’m the entire personality and history of England squashed into one body which has been around for as long as the country itself. I also have a human identity for convenience. Is that sufficient explanation for you?”

The twins nodded dumbly, though England was sure they still didn’t quite understand. That was fine, they’d get it in time.

“You said the Minister calls you Britain, sir,” Granger began, a tinge of amazement in her voice. “Does that mean you work for the government?”

England nodded. “Naturally. I am very influential and integral to the Muggle government, and I have fought in many wars. I’ve only recently reintegrated myself with the magical Ministry, which I had abandoned for a time. Fudge is quite happy to have me back, though I can’t honestly say the same. Most of the authorities in the Ministry right now are insufferable and corrupt—I’m not letting them out of my sight again.”

“How many battles have you fought?” the Weasley girl asked.

England stuck a spoonful of stew in his mouth and chewed, contemplating. He continued after he had swallowed. “I’ve lost count. Just read some history, I’ve been in nearly every significant battle fought by English troops as well as some of the lesser-known ones. Some are unrecorded as they were fought during my pirate days.”

“You were a pirate?” the twins exclaimed.

“Certainly.” England smirked. “Ah, those were the days. I was a bit barbaric, really, but the freedom was worth it.”

Molly shot him a mild glare. “Don’t go giving them ideas.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Conversation turned away from him as the evening went by. Soon Arthur, Bill, and Lupin were entrenched in a discussion about goblins and Tonks was demonstrating different nose shapes. If England thought he’d seen every nose, he was quickly proven wrong.

He himself ended up in an exchange of baking tips with Molly. Her smile grew a little strained at a few of his, for some reason.

He found his headache growing worse throughout the evening, as it was prone to. He did his best not to show it, though he rubbed his temples whenever he thought no one was looking.

By the end of dinner everyone was stuffed and sleepy, the conversation slowing down with more yawns interspersed.

England rose to his feet as soon as was polite. “Thank you for the meal, Molly, it was delicious. I’ll be taking my leave now.”

She bounced to her feet. “You’re very welcome, England. Please, let me show you out. And kids—” she turned back to the table. “I think it’s about time you lot got to bed.”

“Just a moment, Molly,” Sirius said. He looked at Harry. “You know, I’m surprised at you. I thought the first thing you’d do when you got here would be asking questions about Voldemort.”

The room tensed, and there began an argument about the divulgence of information to the kids.

Arthur took a step back and broke in as soon as he found an opening. “Shall I see myself out, then?”

Molly stopped short. “Oh—oh, I’m sorry England. I’ll show you to the door.”

“Thank you. Oh, and by the way—” He glanced at the room at large. “I believe it would be wise to disclose at least minimal information to Potter, for his own sake.”

Molly looked crestfallen, but composed herself enough to lead him to the door and undo its many locks. “I’m sorry you had to get in the middle of that,” she whispered.

“Not at all,” he replied, lowering his voice to a similar volume. “Harry Potter is very important to this country right now, and therefore he’s important to me. I thought I might give my piece, just to ensure he doesn’t do anything reckless, so there’s no need to apologize.” He stepped out the door. “Good night, Molly.”

“Good night.”

As soon as the door closed, he Apparated back to his bedroom.

‘-’

England stumbled as he appeared next to his bed, then collapsed on it with a groan, pressing his palm to his forehead.

His condition was worsening by the day. The conflict between those who believed in Voldemort’s return and those who didn’t was intensifying while the Muggles remained oblivious, and his current role as a double agent wasn’t helping matters.

He could practically feel Voldemort’s animosity just lying here, and there was little he could do about that. All he could do for now was hope that his efforts paid off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, meant to update this yesterday but I forgot, sooo... here it is now. :)

“I know you don’t particularly want to reconnect with our wizarding school,” Fudge said two weeks into the school year, “but would you mind visiting Hogwarts to check up on things personally? Maybe incite a little… skepticism?”

England frowned. “Aren’t we doing enough with the papers, and with Dolores as High Inquisitor?”

“Yes, well, I thought perhaps that having someone such as yourself personally take a trip to the school and show support for the Ministry might help persuade some people to the truth.”

Ah, yes.

A few days before the Hogwarts start of term, Fudge had revealed England’s existence to the papers. Public opinion ranged from disbelief to amazement, and he was stared at by magic folk wherever he went. Even a few parents of muggleborns knew who he was. And as expected, he was hounded by newspapers and magazines. This was being used to “their” advantage—Fudge hoped by showing what an ancient and wise being he must be, and how he sided with them, that they could prove to the population that the Ministry was absolutely correct.

England knew from experience that it wasn’t so easy—but he wasn’t about to tell Fudge. “I see, then. A reasonable course of action. When would you like me to go?”

‘-’

And that was how England ended up riding through the gates of Hogwarts in a carriage pulled by thestrals on a Sunday morning when he should have been attending church.

He had been met in front of the school gates by Albus and Umbridge, the latter of whom was smiling sickeningly at the time. Now that they were in the carriage the grin was less sickening, because it was less…  _ there _ . It was still enough to make his headache feel worse.

“So Britain,” she simpered—England shuddered—“how are things at the Ministry?”

He leaned into his seat with an air of relaxation and pasted on a polite smile. “Quite well. Things are running more smoothly than ever before with my help, and you being here as been greatly beneficial for the students, I’m sure.”

“Oh yes, I simply  _ adore _ them.”

England had met Umbridge just a few days into his time at the Ministry. He’d read all about her in the papers before, but nothing had prepared him for how truly horrendous she was—the sound of her voice alone had been enough to make him want to return to the time of the Black Plague and die there. He’d had to work with her often before she went off to Hogwarts, and he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with her again until the school year ended. No such luck.

“I hope you appreciate them as well, Mr. England,” Albus said, his eyes twinkling. “Good minds they have, all of them.”

England nodded. “Of course—children are the future of the Nation. It will be good to see them learning.”

They kept up amiable conversation like this for the rest of the ride, though England had a strange and strong urge to impale Umbridge with a cutlass. He and Albus could make it out to be a tragic accident, similar to what the Ministry was doing with Cedric Diggory. But alas, killing people wasn’t an option for this mission. Maybe one day…

A few students were lounging around the front steps when they got there, enjoying the day, and England had seen several around the lake and sitting in the grass. Albus and Umbridge stepped out of the carriage first, the students sending them scrutinizing looks, and when England hopped to the ground next, their mouths fell open.

He ignored them, retrieving his small assortment of luggage and following Albus and Umbridge into the school while the children stared at him. Not ten yards into the castle there were yet more stares, and whispers broke out.

“Is that who I think it is?”

“No way…”

“Why is he here?”

“Well, isn’t the Ministry interfering here?”

“He was probably sent to spy on us, or something.”

  
Ah, well. A few negative comments were to be expected. At least no one was bothering to approach.

“You know your way around the school, I presume?” Albus asked.

“Yes, though it’s been a few decades. I’m sure I can find my way around just fine when I need to.”

“We shall skip the tour, then. Let’s stop by your temporary quarters to get you settled in.”

Dumbledore and Umbridge led England to one of the guest rooms on the second floor; it wasn’t spacious, but it wasn’t a tight squeeze either. At least this one had windows. After he had set his luggage down at the end of the bed, they left for Albus’ office.

They made their way through the halls and up the stairs, passing the time with occasional conversation and ignoring the stares of students and gossiping portraits. Once they reached the gargoyle in front of Albus’ office, he said the gibberish name of some wizard candy England had never heard of and they took the steps up to their destination.

Dumbledore took his seat behind his desk, took a lemon drop, and pushed the bowlful across the table. “Please sit, we have much to discuss, I’m sure.”

England sat, Umbridge in the chair next to his, and accepted a lemon drop from the bowl. “We’ll be going over what I’ll be inspecting, Professor. As classes are not in session on weekends, today I will be evaluating the facilities to ensure all is in working order. I shall visit the house elves to be sure they’re doing a fine job, and ask your current groundskeeper and your caretaker about the general state of things.”

Albus nodded. “I understand. Will that be all you’re doing today?”

“Yes. Tomorrow I will be sitting in on classes, sometimes with Dolores and sometimes without, to ensure that your professors are teaching adequately and the students are learning something from them. If necessary I will report my findings to the board of governors, however, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I will take my leave tomorrow evening.”

Albus opened his mouth to say something, and England pretended not to notice as he remembered something else. “I will also be confirming that Professor Umbridge is capably fulfilling her duties as Hogwarts High Inquisitor. This is why I too will be sitting in on classes, with and without her.”

Umbridge let out a small, outraged gasp. “Excuse me? I can assure you I am doing the best I can. Cornelius—the Minister trusts me, there is no need for my evaluation.”

England raised his hands placatingly. “Now now, Dolores, it’s only fair. I am inspecting every other facet of the school, and to leave you out would be blatantly biased. This is also a new position, as I’m sure you are aware, and we cannot leave you to carry it out without making sure that it is up to the Ministry’s standards. I’m sure you’re doing an excellent job, but it must be done in any case.”

This calmed her, if only slightly, but as long as she wasn’t throwing a hissy fit that was good enough for him.

He straightened up a bit, glancing at Albus. “I would like a private word with Professor Dumbledore here, Dolores. If you wouldn’t mind…”

She stood up, dusting non-existent dust off her cardigan. “Of course, England.” She left the room without another word.

As soon as the door closed, England slumped in his seat with an enormous groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t stand that woman! Her mere presence is enough to drive someone insane!”

Albus chuckled. “She does have that effect—perhaps you need to raise your tolerance with her.”

“You’d think it would be easier, knowing who I have to deal with every month,” he growled, popping the lemon drop he’d grabbed earlier into his mouth. “The other Nations, that is. Somehow she manages to be worse than France.”

Albus raised his eyebrows. “I always thought France was a lovely country.”

“Not so lovely to meet him as a person,” England huffed. “At least I’ve had more than a few measly weeks to get used to him. That toad woman, though…” He sighed. “Well, anyway, is there anything in particular that you think I should overlook during the inspection? I’m trying not to dig you into a deeper hole.”

Albus hummed in thought. “Perhaps… ignore Peeves, the usual gamekeeper’s absence, and Professor Trelawney’s ah, questionable teaching. It is more important than ever that she remain here.”

England’s eyes widened. “Sybil Trelawney? The seer who delivered Potter’s prophecy?”

“The same.”

“I wondered where she’d gotten off to… she’s your Divination professor?” He went on without waiting for a reply. “Very well then, I’ll pretend she’s competent—if she truly isn’t, that is. Is that everything?”

“Yes.” Albus started unwrapping another lemon drop. “Will you be starting now?”

“Yes.” He stood up, swaying slightly, and grabbed the arm of the chair for balance. “If that’s not inconvenient.”

“Go right ahead.”

He made his way from the office, picking up Umbridge at the bottom of the stairs. Great clusters of students were lingering around various places now, maybe hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

“What would you like to inspect first?” Umbridge asked, dodging a tiny first year who seemed unable to move from shock.

“Well…” England considered. “Perhaps I will speak to the caretaker?”

“He should be in his office right now. He’s a capable man,” Umbridge said with her disgusting smile. “Knows just what is…  _ best _ for the students.”

‘-’

Argus Filch’s office was a dreary, off-putting place. Whether this was because of the grime, the shackles and whips hanging from the walls and ceiling, or because of the man himself was debatable.

England sat in the seat in front of Filch’s desk that was usually reserved for the more unfortunate students.

The caretaker gave him a horrible, yellow-toothed grin. “What can I do for you, Mr. Britain?”

England pulled up the most genuine smile he could muster. “I’d like to ask a few questions. Tell me, what is your routine for caring for the school?”

“Oh, of  _ course _ Mr. Britain, I begin with a patrol…”

England was quite glad when that interview was over.

‘-’

When Harry woke up Monday morning, the first thing he did was groan into his pillow; this was because he had Defense Against the Dark Arts today, and while that wasn’t so bad in the past two years, Defense was being… erm… “taught” by Umbridge the Toad.

She was worse than Gilderoy Lockhart had been.

Unfortunately he had no excuse not to get up, so he rolled out of bed with hair even messier than usual and, after making sure Ron was up, went to get ready for the day.

He finally began to wake up as he was brushing his teeth, and it was then he remembered that England was at the school. This wasn’t such a big deal to him as it was to everyone else, seeing as he’d met and talked to England several times at twelve Grimmauld Place, but rumors had been circulating that he would be helping Umbridge inspecting classes. Not only that, but they were saying he would be inspecting  _ her _ classes, and her methods as High Inquisitor.

Maybe England could get her fired—but, well, it wasn’t like he would be able to give her a negative review, since he was a spy and had to stay in the Ministry’s good graces. One could hope.

After finishing up he headed down to breakfast with Ron and Hermione, and when they arrived at the Great Hall he spotted England sitting next to Umbridge at the staff table holding a civil conversation about who-knows-what.

“D’you think it’s true he’s going to be inspecting classes?” Ron wondered as they ambled toward the Gryffindor table.

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe.” He sat down and grabbed a pitcher of pumpkin juice.

“It would be good if he did,” Hermione put in, scooping scrambled eggs onto her plate. “He could give the teachers better evaluations, maybe stop some of the… worse off ones from getting fired.”

Harry thought of Trelawney and nodded. “Yeah, that would be good, I guess.”

After breakfast they went to History of Magic, during which Harry fell asleep, then Potions, which was as dreadful as usual. In Divinations they got to witness the sad sight of Trelawney hiding her distress under an air of misty detachment, and then there was Defense Against the Dark Arts.

England was there this time, sitting against the wall behind Umbridge’s desk with a clipboard and quill at the ready. He appeared to be trying and only partially succeeding at hiding hate-filled glares directed at the toad woman.

He nodded to them when he spotted them, and upon seeing the other students arriving managed to slip a cool and collected mask over his animosity.

The bell rang. “Good afternoon, class,” Umbridge said with her usual too-wide smile.

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” they droned in reply.

“Please turn to chapter five of your textbook and begin reading,” Umbridge continued, voice coated with an unusual amount of honey.

Harry stole a look at England; he was scribbling something down on his clipboard. Harry hoped it was negative.

The first fifteen or so minutes of class were spent flipping through pages and staring uncomprehendingly at the unhelpful words contained within chapter five. Harry glanced up several times to see what England was doing—which was, for the most part, gazing intently at the students, Umbridge, or his clipboard. Then he spoke.

“Do you teach practical skills in this class, Professor Umbridge?”

Harry wasn’t the only one to look up.

Umbridge’s eyebrows shot up, but she pulled them back down a moment later. “Practical defense is not part of the curriculum designed by the Ministry.”

England raised his eyebrows. His quill was poised to start writing. “Ah. And why is that?”

“We—we want to ensure that they know the basics before moving on to defensive spellcasting.”

“Hmm.” England made a note. “And you believe these fifth year students are not already versed in basic defense principles?”

Umbridge sniffed. “Their previous teachers in this class have been… less than adequate. The Ministry decided a return to the basics to review would be best.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard about those teachers.” England flipped a few pages on his clipboard. “Quirinus Quirrell, Gilderoy Lockhart, Remus Lupin, and Alastor Moody.” He glanced at Umbridge and continued. “Professor Quirrell gave them a solid theoretical foundation before dying mysteriously at the end of the year. Lockhart—” He winced. “Well, he at least gave them an idea of dueling before being exposed as a fraud. Professor Lupin taught them how to defend against a number of dark creatures, very good, and Moody taught defensive spells.” He looked up. “It seems to me they have a fairly solid idea of what they’re doing.”

Umbridge opened her mouth to say something, but England continued.

“However… a review of the basics is always a good idea, and you are doing quite well on that matter.” He made another note, not saying another word.

“Thank you, Britain.” Umbridge turned away from the Nation just in time to miss the hideous face he sent her.

A few of Harry’s classmates, as well as himself and Ron, stifled gasps and snickers. England looked appropriately smug.

Umbridge just frowned. “Quiet, please. Continue your studying.”

The few students whose heads were still up went back to their books with suppressed grins.

England wasn’t bad at all…

‘-’

England stood up at the end of class after all the students had filed out and made his way to Umbridge’s desk. “You can expect the results of your evaluation in one week,” he said. “I hope that wasn’t too trying for you.”

“Quite all right.” Her smile was strained. “Though if I may—why did you question the Ministry’s decisions? Where you not involved in the making of them?”

“I was not part of the curriculum planning—that was up to the Department of Magical Education. I was busy with more important affairs. Besides, isn’t it a little too blatant of the Ministry to teach solely theory to not only first years, but also every year beyond? Fourth years and onward should be well-versed in practical defensive spells. It may be detrimental not to teach them.”

Umbridge began to look unsure. “Yes, well, we can hardly have them learning things that could put the Ministry in danger. Who knows what Dumbledore is planning, after all.”

“Yes, I agree with you, but we don’t want to anger any parents if they find out no one is learning anything of use in this class.”

Umbridge nodded. “Of course, of course. Perhaps next semester…”

England thought not.

‘-’

The next time Harry saw England was at the staff table during dinner. He was talking with Dumbledore this time, and Harry guessed this conversation was much more enjoyable, based on the fact that England’s smile didn’t look like it was about to fall off his face and shatter into pieces.

Harry managed to catch his eye, and England sent him a nod and a wink.

‘-’

After dropping his luggage off at home for the evening, England went straight to the Ministry; as much as he wanted to flop down in bed and sleep until he couldn’t feel his headache, he wanted to get this over with more.

“Hello, Britain,” Fudge said brightly when he stepped inside the office. “How did your inspection go? Did you glean any new information?”

England sank into a chair. “Well, I think. Near all faculty and facilities are up to Ministry standards. However…” He frowned. “The Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum seems… subpar.”

Fudge furrowed his brow. “Britain, if it is true that Dumbledore is planning to overthrow the Ministry, we can’t simply hand him an army.”

“Parents will begin sending in complaints once they realize their children aren’t learning anything,” England warned. “The Ministry will lose favor in the eyes of many wizarding families.”

“That… I had not considered.” Fudge avoided his gaze. “What are we to do, then?”

“I’d say begin teaching second years and up basic spellwork next term. Only very basic, mind you, we want to placate the parents, not give them power.”

“Yes, indeed—you are quite good at this game, Britain.”

Ahh, but Fudge had no idea what game he was playing. “I’ve been in it for a long time.”

“Too right. Anything else to report?”

England hummed. “Several students seemed to have negative opinions of me. They apparently think I’m the Ministry’s puppet, and that I’m working against their favor. I’m sure they can be swayed with time, however. Besides that… Dumbledore is in possession of some delicious lemon drops. I really must ask where he buys them from. Perhaps we may even bond.”

Fudge chuckled nervously. “Britain, surely you’re not going to be turned over by Muggle sweets?”

“Don’t worry, Cornelius, it was a joke.”

His Minister of Magic was an idiot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who forgot to update again hahaha. Haha. Ha. Yeah, it was me.

On Thursday England had the day off. Now, he could have stayed home and drunk tea with useless painkillers; he could have spent the day sleeping; he could even have spent it reading before going to the pub for the evening and getting so drunk he couldn’t remember his own religion. But instead he visited number twelve Grimmauld Place.

The other members of the Order of the Phoenix were getting antsy—usually if Voldemort targeted Harry he struck at the end of the school year, and now exams were drawing to a close. Several of them were waiting at number twelve when they had the time, ready to swing into action whenever necessary. England didn’t blame them—he had an insistent feeling that he should do the same.

He arrived on the doorstep early in the afternoon. He raised his hand to knock, but after considering for a moment decided not to risk waking up Mrs. Black and unlocked the door himself.

The hall was silent as death, as usual. Mrs. Black’s curtains were swaying ominously though, so England decided not to test his luck and kept his footsteps silent. He checked the kitchen and found no one there other than Kreacher, who was muttering threateningly about picture frames. He checked the drawing room next, and found Remus and Sirius engaged in a tense conversation.

“I’m just worried,” Sirius sighed. “If something happens I probably won’t be able to help—what if Death Eaters attack? No one will be expecting it.”

“They won’t be able to get past the Hogwarts wards,” Remus reassured him. “They were renewed just this year. And besides, they would be revealing themselves if they attacked, and Voldemort doesn’t want to risk that.”

Sirius groaned, slumping in his chair. “I knowww. I can’t help it.”

England cleared his throat. “Am I interrupting something?”

Remus turned his head to see the door, and Sirius glanced up, expression sullen.

“Oh, England!” Lupin exclaimed. “Didn’t realize you were there. How are you?”

“As fine as ever.” “Ever” meaning, “since the end of last June.” His head had been aching nonstop for a year, so he thought it could be considered the norm at this point. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

Sirius gestured vaguely to the other chairs in the room. “Go ahead,” he grumbled.

England lowered himself into a seat next to Lupin and across from Sirius.

Sirius leaned his head on his hand. “When did you get here? We didn’t hear you come in.”

“Just a few minutes ago. I didn’t want to risk disturbing your mother, so I let myself in quietly.” He pulled out his wand and gave it a little wave, summoning a pot of tea and three cups. If he was going to be sitting here waiting for something bad to happen, he might as well have tea while he was at it.

Remus stared. “Did you just summon that tea out of nothing?”

England reheated the pot with a spell and began pouring a cup. “No, I left it sitting on the table earlier. Didn’t really think about it.” Didn’t think about a lot of things outside of business nowadays. He offered the cup to Sirius. “Here, you look like you need it.”

Sirius pulled himself up and accepted. “Thanks.” He glanced at England’s wand. “That thing still looks ridiculous.”

England’s eye twitched. “Please don’t bring this up again. I told you, it’s quite old.” He started pouring another cup for Remus.

His wand was indeed an ancient thing. One would never see a modern wizard walking around with a gigantic star on the tip of his wand. The same could not be said for some of the quirkier witches.

“Still, I don’t know what wizards were thinking back in your day.” Sirius sipped his tea. “Having giant ornaments on the tip of your wand seems like it would be more of an inconvenience than anything.”

“Fashion changes over time, Black,” England growled. He handed Remus his cup and began pouring one for himself.

“You seem awfully defensive about this, England,” Black said, off-hand. “It’s almost as if…” His eyes widened dramatically. “...It’s almost as if  _ you _ made this wand!”

England went red. “Shut up! It was fashionable back then, all right? How was I supposed to know it would look ridiculous a thousand years later?”

In the end England almost spilled his tea on the carpet, and Sirius laughed at him. But the embarrassment was little enough that he could laugh too in the end—a welcome reprieve from the humorless chaos his life was descending into. Even the monthly World Conferences weren’t enough to ease his weariness. In the past he could laugh at everyone else and even himself for their ridiculous lack of international diplomacy skills, but now everything was becoming more and more draining.

He supposed this meant Voldemort was gaining power under his layer of secrecy. There was nothing more tiring than a dark wizard.

‘-’

As the hours ticked by, a few other Order members arrived; first came Alastor Moody, whose wild blue eye flicked anxiously in every direction. A couple hours later they were alerted to Tonks’ presence by Mrs. Black’s screaming, and half an hour after that Kingsley Shacklebolt strolled in. The six of them didn’t spend much time together before Sirius left to feed Buckbeak.

They whiled away the time talking about subjects varying from serious to silly. Kingsley and Tonks set up a game of chess, Remus and Moody began to discuss chocolate, and just when England thought it would be a pleasant evening, Sirius burst into the room again. This wouldn’t have been terrible at all if he hadn’t come as the bearer of bad news.

“Voldemort’s trying to lure Harry,” he said grimly. “Snape’s just sent me a patronus, he said Harry dreamed Voldemort was torturing me or something at the Department of Mysteries.”

“What?” Remus leapt to his feet. “When was this?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t say.” Sirius answered bitterly.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and go there.” Tonks’ voice was unsure, but she continued. “He’d try to contact you first.”

Remus frowned. “He would, yes, but if he didn’t get a response…”

“We have to wait for orders,” Alastor interrupted. “We’ll know something’s up then, but for now we wait.”

And so they did, and each second was long and agonizing. Tonks and Kingsley tried to pick up their game of chess again, but neither could concentrate on the board for long. Alastor’s eye whizzed frantically around in its socket, and Sirius and Remus paced. And paced. England sat in his chair and stared into his teacup, taking an occasional sip.

They waited for half an hour before another patronus arrived.

A graceful doe pranced through the wall, and everyone stopped what they were doing. The doe opened its mouth, and Snape’s voice issued forth from the dainty creature—it was most unsettling.

“Potter, Granger, and Umbridge entered the Forbidden Forest and have yet to return. Rally your forces and head to the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore will be arriving momentarily. Black,” the doe turned its gaze to Sirius, “remain here and explain the situation to him.” Then it dissipated.

Everyone who wasn’t already standing shot to their feet; England took a couple steps and stumbled, grabbing the back of his chair—dizziness came all too easy these days.

“You heard the man!” Moody growled. “Let’s get going!”

“I’m coming!” Sirius shouted. “Don’t try to stop me.”

England inhaled shakily, and a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He turned his gaze up and met Kingsley’s concerned eyes.

“You don’t look well,” he said.

“I-I’m fine.” England straightened up and brushed the hand off.

“Kreacher can tell him,” Sirius was arguing. “I can handle myself just fine out there, and if any aurors show up I’ll just turn into Padfoot.”

He and Moody stared at each other for a long moment, refusing to break eye contact.

Alastor let out an aggravated sigh. “Very well then, but if you end up arrested or killed, it’s on your own head. Now call your elf, and make it quick.”

Sirius nodded and took a step back. “KREACHER!”

The house elf popped into existence at Black’s elbow. “You called, sir?” he sneered.

Sirius glowered down at the elf. “Dumbledore is arriving soon. When he gets here you will explain our situation to him; that Harry had a dream that I was being tortured at the Department of Mysteries and went into the forest with Hermione and Umbridge and has yet to return. Tell him we’ve gone to the Department of Mysteries. Have you got that?” he snapped.

“Of course, master. Foul little blood traitor, ooh, how Mistress hates…”

No one was listening; they were already headed toward the door.

‘-’

When they arrived at the Department of Mysteries, it was evident that others had already been there. Beyond every door they burst through was the wreckage of a battle—or a chase. And then they sprinted into one of England’s least favorite rooms in existence and spells were flying.

Potter, who had been at the mercy of Death Eaters, dodged out of the way with a round-faced, broken-nosed boy England didn’t know. He lost track of them for the most part after that, but he spotted Harry scrambling away once and prayed to everything that he would be all right.

“That’s England! SEIZE HIM!” a Death Eater cried. The man was soon unconscious on the floor, but he’d drawn the others’ attention and it seemed anyone who wasn’t after Potter or occupied with another Order member congregated around him then.

He could feel the battle taking its toll on him with every curse and jinx and shield, he was drained enough already without expending all his energy on this—

And then he heard a shout, somewhere behind him. “DUBBLEDORE!”

The Death Eater he was duelling looked up the steps in alarm, and England took the opportunity to stun him before spinning around to see.

A wave of relief washed over him when he saw that Albus had indeed arrived—because if there was anything more Albus could do than bring his skill to the battle, it was inciting fear.

A Death Eater shouted to alert his allies of Dumbledore’s presence, and every fight ceased immediately—except the one between Sirius and Bellatrix Lestrange. They seemed quite angry at each other.

While Albus began to round the Death Eaters up, England hobbled over to one of the stone benches to the side—he almost didn’t make it, but Kingsley joined him in a second and helped him sit down.

“Come on, you can do better than that!” Sirius laughed.

The two of them looked up just in time to see him fall through the Veil.

‘-’

Harry Potter could scream a lot; that was what England managed to register through the haze of pain and shock that had come over him.

He was also very fast. He shot from the room like a bullet after Lestrange left, before anyone could stop him, and Albus took a moment to ensure that the Death Eaters were secured before hurrying after him.

England pulled himself to his feet and stood there wobbling for a minute. Exhaustion was sinking into every nook and cranny of his being, so he just stood there, a hand on Kingsley’s shoulder for balance. He took a few deep breaths, and moved a foot—and a horrible pain shot through his head.

He blacked out.

When he came to he assumed it must have been a few minutes; he was still in the same room, lying on the bench, and had several worried Order members hovering over him.

With an exasperated groan, he began to push himself up, but a hand pressed him back down. “Stay down, England,” Remus said. “You’re in no state to be standing.”

“I think I know my own limits, thank you very much,” England grunted. He heaved himself into a sitting position, ignoring any protests. Every limb ached; he imagined even his fingernails hurt. He inhaled and abruptly stood up. A wave of dizziness enveloped him, and he reached out to hold onto the closest thing, Remus’ shoulder. “Where’s Potter?” he gasped. “And Albus?”

Sirius was dead, he remembered. Fallen.

“They... went up to the Atrium...” Tonks responded uncertainly.

England began to stumble up the stairs, Remus and Tonks trailing behind him, and managed to steady his pace in a few steps. He felt sick, but the worst of the pain had faded. He could ignore it, he could push past it to see what had happened, and what was happening.

Through the brain room, out the doors, up the lift, it blurred together as he concentrated on staying upright. Tonks and Remus seemed hesitant to touch him—maybe they thought he would crumple if they did. He thought that might be true, but he wasn’t certain.

At last he arrived at the Atrium; it was bustling with Aurors, and in the center of it stood Albus, eerily calm, Fudge, utterly flabbergasted, and Harry Potter, who was now gone in a flash of light. A portkey.

England straightened up, took a deep breath, and strode to the Minister with all the strength and confidence he could muster. “Cornelius,” he greeted shortly.

“Britain!” Fudge’s eyebrows traveled even further up his forehead than before, if that was possible. “Whatever happened to you?”

“I battled a hoard of Death Eaters who apparently wanted to haul my skin to their master,” England snapped. “Come on, let’s talk over here.” He spun on his heel and marched over to an unpopulated corner of the room, Fudge and Dumbledore in tow.

“I-I don’t understand,” Fudge spluttered. “Why were you here? B-battling Death Eaters? What happened?”

“It’s quite simple, Minister,” Albus said calmly. “Harry Potter and several other students were lured here by Lord Voldemort under the false impression that his godfather was being held captive and tortured. He was met by Death Eaters and they battled for the prophecy foretelling Harry and Voldemort’s fates. Sirius was killed—”

Fudge gaped. “Sirius Black—”

“Is an innocent man,” Albus finished for him, “framed fourteen years ago by Peter Pettigrew, who faked his own death and went into hiding. As I was saying… Sirius was killed by his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange, after which she ran to the room we are standing in. Harry chased her, they duelled and Voldemort arrived. I battled him, and then he took Bellatrix and left.”

“Why is England here, then?”

“I’ve been working with Albus for months,” England informed him, crossing his arms. He couldn’t quite bring himself to be smug. “After you didn’t believe me the first time, I went to him. We’ve been collaborating ever since.”

“You—why—!” The outrage died as fast as it started. “I… see…” Fudge deflated. “I… my apologies, Britain, for not believing you in the beginning. I… was wrong.”

‘-’

England didn’t have the energy to stick around long after that. But now that people knew Voldemort was back, he would have no qualms killing and capturing as he pleased, so England knew he was unsafe at home. He stayed at Hogwarts that night in the same guest quarters as before, and did not sleep soundly.

When he woke the next morning he sent a letter by owl to his Muggle Prime Minister saying he would be unable to come in to work for wizarding reasons to be explained later, and flooed to the Ministry of Magic.

The Atrium was filled with enraged shouts and anxious whispers. He received a few glares, and he had a guess why.

The secretary Percy Weasley was being bombarded by a number of enchanted paper airplanes, and only sent him a quick nod, so he decided to let himself in. He knocked once, then darted into the office and closed the door behind him before any of the paper airplanes could follow. There were already several in the room and another one was wriggling in through the crack under the door.

Fudge appeared flustered and harassed. He looked up when England slipped in and put down the unfolded paper airplane he’d been reading. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve been hounded by letters all morning, and about half of them are for you!”

England sighed, snatching a plane out of the air. “Yesterday’s battle took its toll on me. I had to rest.” He glanced at the address on the plane’s wing:

_ Prime Minister Cornelius Fudge _

_ Floor 1 _

“This one’s yours.” He released it again and grabbed another one, plopping into a chair.

_ Representative England _

_ Floor 1 _

“Ah, here’s one for me.” He unfolded it carefully and read the contents:

_ Dear Mr. England, _

_ Please be aware that your failure to accept the implications of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s possible return and act accordingly has put your citizens at great risk. I hope you regret this and learn from it. _

_ Sincerely, a disgruntled employee _

England raised his eyebrows. “Ridiculous. They didn’t even have anything important to say—just a load of rubbish about how I didn’t take action. Don’t know why they even bothered sending it.”

Fudge nodded. “I’ve been receiving letters like that all day. Just want to pin the blame on someone, they all do.”

“I suppose I’ll have to release a statement. I can have everyone believing I stood by doing nothing.”

“We’re holding a press conference tonight.” Fudge batted at an airplane that was pecking at his head in a poor imitation of an owl. “That should keep the press away for a while, at least.”

“At least you’re intelligent enough to make that decision.”

“Really, now,” Fudge snapped. He grabbed the pecking airplane in a fist and held it there. “There was very little evidence to support Dumbledore and Potter’s claims. I try not to jump to conclusions based on the word of a schoolboy.”

England scoffed. “Now you’re just being stubborn. You always knew Cedric Diggory’s death was more than a sad coincidence, you just didn’t want to admit you might not be safe anymore. Stop clinging to your pride, just last night you admitted to me that you were wrong.”

Fudge opened and closed his mouth for a few seconds, then let out a huff. “Fine. I suppose I can hardly shirk the blame on this.”

They spent the morning skimming their letters, which were let in a few at a time every few minutes by Percy, responding to the ones that were important and vanishing those that weren’t. They took a break early in the afternoon for a mediocre Ministry cafeteria lunch with scalding watery tea, and then got straight back to work.

Fudge put down an unopened letter an hour before the press conference was set to begin with a weary sigh. “I think it would be best if we took a little rest before the conference. Went over thoughts and statements.”

England nodded, finishing off a letter of his own. “I believe you’re right, in this case.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. England got up and left without a word.

Percy looked up. He was much less swamped this time. “Hello, Mr. Britain. Everything going well?”

“Yes, we’re just breaking to rest before the press conference. You should try as well, I think—you’ll have to accompany us.”

The boy looked relieved, though he tried to hide it. “Ah, very well then. Thank you.”

England made his way to where the lift should soon be arriving and waited. Sure enough, it stopped by a minute later, and he hurried inside before it could start again. After a few floors of silence he was joined by Arthur Weasley.

“Hello, England,” he said wearily. “Where you headed?”

“The Atrium. Thought I’d stop home for just a few minutes.”

Arthur hummed. “Yes, I’m on my way home too. How—”

Another middle-aged wizard stepped in and stood next to England, glowering. An uncomfortable silence fell, and the lift started moving again.

“Well, ah—” Arthur started again, “how are you, England?”

“So I was right,” the glowering wizard grumbled. “You’re England, are you?”

England looked up at the man, an eyebrow raised. “Yes, do you have something you wish to speak to me about?”

The man glared for a moment longer before speaking. “You’re causing a right bloody mess.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” the wizard growled. “Shoulda believed Dumbledore from the start. Now look where things are headed!”

England scowled. “If you’re going to hound me with your nonsense leave it till after the press conference. I don’t have the time or patience to listen to young men complaining about things they don’t understand.”

The man opened his mouth to retort, but England turned back to Arthur before he had the chance. “I’m quite well, thank you Arthur. And you?”

“Good, good.” Arthur nodded, stealing a nervous glance at the middle-aged wizard, who was getting angrier with every second he was ignored. He leaned in close and whispered, “I don’t like the look of him—let’s get off this lift next stop and switch to another.”

England hummed his agreement. The door reopened a second later while the disembodied voice announced the floor, and they hurried off. The wizard might have tried to follow them, but they were quick to get in an empty lift and managed to avoid him.

Arthur sighed in relief. “I expect you’ll be getting a lot of people like him on your tail. You should try to stay out of sight.”

England rolled his eyes. “There’s only so much I can avoid, going from place to place. I’ll have to return to the Minister’s office by floo, but after the conference I should hopefully regain favor.” He checked his watch; fifty minutes till the conference. A cup of tea and he’d be ready.

‘-’

Thirty minutes later England flooed back to the Minister’s office feeling better than his now-usual terrible state, though not by much.

Fudge glanced up from the stack of notes he was going through. “Ah, you’re here, good. I need to brief you on what you’re not allowed to say.”

England reclaimed his seat and pulled up his own notes detailing his statement. “I think I’m within my rights to say anything I please,” he said calmly. He frowned and reread a line in an attempt to commit it to memory.

“Nonsense,” Fudge snapped. “There are legal reasons. We don’t want certain things getting out.”

“Legal reasons my arse,” England sneered. “PR reasons, more like. Any more attempts to salvage your reputation will send it further down the drain. I advise you accept your inevitable impeachment.”

Cornelius huffed. “Still—we are  _ not _ telling the press about last night’s incident. We’re getting enough trouble as is.”

“I’m sure they already know by now.” He put his notes down. “News travels fast—already everyone working here knows, it’s a bit of a stretch to think the papers haven’t caught on already.”

Fudge ignored this and went on. “Nothing about all Dumbledore’s work behind the scenes either, nor yours. You’re both important figures, we don’t want either of you showing blatant mistrust toward the Ministry.”

“You mean toward you? I’m not making any promises, Fudge.” England glanced at his watch. “We should get going. Don’t want to be late.”

Fudge shuffled his notes into order, and the two of them left the room. Percy was waiting for them by his desk, hair and robes neat despite the earlier excess of paper airplanes, and they were joined when they left the lift by four aurors for security. They paused a moment in the lift lobby to collect themselves before striding into the Atrium.

Cameras flashed; reporters from every wizarding paper and magazine England could think of were there with quills at the ready and photographers at their sides, the more rambunctious ones pushing forward with questions on their tongues.

The aurors put up shields on every side to clear the way until they made it to the makeshift podium that had been set up at the edge of the room. Fudge climbed up behind the stand. He tapped his throat with his wand and muttered,  _ “Sonorus.” _ The volume in the Atrium began to rise. “Quiet, quiet, please. We will begin shortly.”

England, standing a few feet behind Fudge next to Percy, took the time to shuffle through his notes; he didn’t have much to say, mostly just wanting to put a stop to the idea that he was doing nothing this entire time.

The noise in the Atrium lowered to the reporters muttering amongst themselves, glancing at their own notes and questions, and England thought he might have heard a few photographers exchanging tips. That was nice.

In a few minutes Fudge cleared his throat and straightened up, putting his papers down. “We will be taking questions now.”

A dozen hands flew into the air, and Fudge pointed to a young man near the front. “You, with the brown hair.”

The man put his hand down. “What exactly happened here last night?”

“I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to tell you that. Next question.” There was a pause. “You, girl.”

“Is it true that You-Know-Who has returned?”

The room fell silent. Fudge drew a shaky breath. “Yes. It is with great displeasure that I must also announce the revolt of the dementors of Azkaban, who seem to have become averse to following Ministry orders.”

England looked up at him sharply; he’d heard nothing of this—why had he not been informed?

Alarmed murmurs swept through the small crowd. A few photographers started snapping more pictures.

“Next question,” Fudge said quickly. He indicated an older reporter towards the middle. “Yes?”

“This one’s for England, please.”

Fudge gave him a brief look, and England strode up to take his place at the stand. He cast a voice-amplifying spell before speaking. “Yes?”

“Why did you not believe Albus Dumbledore before? If what we’ve been told of your nature is true, shouldn’t you have been able to feel You-Know-Who’s effects on the country?”

“Ah.” England smiled. He’d thought they’d ask that. “As it happens, I have been aware of Voldemort’s return since Albus first announced it. I could indeed feel it in every bone of my body. My earlier attempts to help salvage the problem were…” He glanced to the side where Fudge was standing. “...Less than successful. So I had to turn to Albus early on. We’ve been working together for several months. I was unable to tell Minister Fudge of this for certain reasons. Is that all?” He pointed to a young lady. “You.”

“What have you been doing exactly to help this situation?”

England thought back to the second page of his notes. “To be perfectly honest, I’ve been spying on the Ministry to keep Albus updated on their moves. I’ve also been inhibiting any attempts to further ruin his influence and reputation, which, as I’m sure you all know, are very important things for him in particular to hold during these times. If this escalates to war again, he will be our greatest asset. That is all I’m saying on the matter.”

Fudge reclaimed the podium soon, and England stayed to the back for the remaining fifteen minutes the conference took up—something he was thankful for, since he’d said all he wanted to say.

Fudge looked more than a little flustered by the end, and Percy vaguely nervous. England felt much better though. It was nice swaying public opinion, though he couldn’t do it too often.

“Well,” Fudge huffed. “I think it’s time we were all heading home for the evening. Good night, Britain, Weasley.” He trotted off to a fireplace and flooed away.

Percy stared after him, then back at England. “Um, yeah… good night, Mr. Britain.”

England nodded. “Good night, Percy.”

They both hopped into different fireplaces and flooed away.

‘-’

It wasn’t the smartest thing, stopping by his house when Voldemort might know where he lived, but it was all right. He was tired, and he’d put up wards as soon as Fudge told him he wanted to announce his existence to the papers. So he was sort of safe.

He changed into his pajamas, put the kettle on, and sat down in the living room to watch television. Dealing with everything Fudge hadn’t told him could wait till tomorrow; he was going to relax if it was the last thing he ever did.

‘-’

**ENGLAND SPEAKS ON THE RETURN OF YOU-KNOW-WHO**

_ In a short statement Friday night, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and the Personification of England told the public of the return of You-Know-Who. Just last Wednesday the same people informed us that we were perfectly safe, that You-Know-Who was gone and would never be returning _ — _ so what changed? _

_ It is speculated that on Thursday evening, the Ministry of Magic was attacked by Death Eaters, led by their dark master. Whether this is anything more than a rumor has yet to be confirmed, and the public waits with bated breath. _

_ Friday evening, your reporter asked England, “Why did you not believe Albus Dumbledore before? If what we’ve been told of your nature is true, shouldn’t you have been able to feel You-Know-Who’s effects on the country?” His response astounded us: _

_ “I have been aware from the beginning...and have been working with Albus for months.” _

_ “What have you been doing to help the situation?” one reporter asked. _

_ “To be perfectly honest...spying on the Ministry to keep Albus updated on its moves...if this escalates to war again, he will be our greatest asset.” _

_ There is really something to be said of our Great Britain. Whether or not this is a positive development, he seems to be working toward the greater good for his citizens. _

And there it was. This was where his peoples’ skepticism would all be stemming from.

England put down the paper with a sigh. At least now his citizens’ opinions on Voldemort’s return wouldn’t be so divided; his headache was almost gone, even if Voldemort’s rising power still made his muscles ache. This was better than he’d felt in a year.

They could prepare for the war now. And maybe they’d be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! Done! I hope you enjoyed reading this. ^-^)/

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter will be up in a few days. ^-^


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